You asked me what my name was
You asked if we could dance
You asked if you could have my number
You asked me to call
You asked me to pick you up
You asked me to hold you
You asked me to wipe away your tears
You asked me to just speak nice things
You asked me to stop fixing things

I never asked for anything
And now I’m asking why

In death there is no fear
neither is there in pain
compared to such a treachery
than putting one to open shame
many a thing they may endure
but poke at the pride engrained
you’ll bind and break their spirit
when speaking evil of their name

you should not push an opinion
nor force it into a small mind
it may explode at the ears
and lose the hearing the next time
when opportunity may arise
where those words may be recieved
into small parts, in smaller bits
and pushed in with ease

You were the best of me
I was the worst of you
we mixed together tints and tones
and shades of brilliant hue
you, a rose with the red
I, the violet with the blue
and that perfect purple Iris in between
inside ‘me’ and ‘you’

Don’t hide me in a shoe box
only in shoes fit for a king
I’m just a poor man walking
in rich men’s things
like the checkered jacket I’m wearing
the vinyl bag, tarnished rings
I’m just a poor man walking
in a rich man’s things
yet, there ain’t no way of knowing
how rich I am, that be true
unless you look down on me
smudge the shine right off me shoe
yeah, there ain’t no way of hiding
me pride or anything
when I pull out to dangle
a rusty gold watch, and silver tin
where I keep fine stained paper
and my tobacco rolled in
Like I say, me brother
I’m just a poor man walking
in a rich man’s things
among the high class dining
treating myself to their bin
I’m just a poor man walking
in rich men’s things
yes, I’m living the life
and nothing stopping
living every man’s dream
till I’m another poor man
in a coffin, with a chauffeur
in a black limousine

The stakes are high
when words are at stake
It’s an open hand
we give
we take
waging with words
a gamble for me
playing a fine line
with cliche
or corny
no matter the draw
poker face
or story
that rhyme you find
too profound
too bally
I deal this poem
I roll
you read
double or nothing
a hit or miss
is always
guaranteed